Racing Storm Mountain, page 15
Except his mom almost screaming his name as she ran and threw her arms around him didn’t make Kelton feel like much of an action hero, and of course Kelton didn’t have a wife. “You’re OK, baby,” Mom whimpered, hugging him to her a little too hard. Normally, that kind of thing would be super-embarrassing in front of everybody, but he hadn’t been hugged like that in a long time, and it was a nice change of pace to be warm.
This big guy, Mike Irons, or Iron Mike as the other rescuers called him, Hunter and Yumi’s uncle who had been the first to find them out there after Yumi and Annette—he stood with Hunter’s mom and dad as Hunter was loaded on a stretcher. “You did good, Hunter,” Iron Mike said. “You really held in there. Doctors will fix you right up.” Hunter offered a weak smile.
Kelton broke free from his mom’s embrace and jogged to Hunter’s side. “Hey, man. I hope you’re better soon. And, you know, thanks for digging me out from under that avalanche.”
Hunter smiled. “Thanks for splinting my leg and helping to get me up out of that chamber.”
Kelton didn’t know what to say to that. He only shrugged.
“Maybe we could get together sometime,” Hunter said. “Like we used to do? When my leg’s better, we could try some ice fishing or something.”
The Populars all played everything cool, like they didn’t care about anything, but Kelton couldn’t hide his smile. “Yeah. I don’t want to think about more ice right now, but I’m sure later, after I’ve had a chance to warm up, that would be great. Maybe catch a sweet trout.”
Kelton backed away as the paramedics lifted the stretcher up into the ambulance.
“We’ll be right behind you, Higgins,” Yumi called to him. She looked up at her father, a guy who had been, like, a real action hero in the war in Afghanistan, and who now had his arm around her shoulders. “Right, Dad? We’re going to the hospital too?” He nodded.
Annette held up her phone. “My parents texted it’s OK if I go as well, as long as I’m home early enough to get ready for school tomorrow.”
The ambulance squawked its siren for a second to warn people to clear out of the way as it rolled toward the road. Yumi and her family headed toward their cars.
“Hey, Yumi,” Kelton called as they passed. “Annette. Thanks for finding us. For the soup and blankets and stuff.”
Yumi stopped and looked at him with that intense glare Populars had that made a Grit feel so stupid for whatever dumb thing he’d said or done. She approached in three swift, determined steps, and threw her arms around him, squeezing him close. “My cousin says you splinted his leg, lifted him out of that mine, and treated him for shock.”
“Swann and I worked together to get him out of that lower chamber,” Kelton admitted.
Yumi backed up, her hands on his shoulders at arms’ length. Was she about to cry? “He might not have made it without you. I won’t forget this, Kelton.”
Annette watched it all, taking notes. “Yeah, great job.” She nodded at Swann. “Maybe we can talk more later? For the school paper? People will want to read about how you all made it through.”
When they were gone, Kelton said quietly to his mom, “Everyone’s acting like it’s so great, but this was a disaster. All my fault. Me and my stupid shortcut.”
“Shh.” She patted his back. “For now, we’re all just so thrilled to have you back safe.”
“Mom, there’s something else I have to tell you. I needed a part for my snowmobile. Plus the entry fee. Well, I had this plan to win the race and have plenty of money to pay back, but—”
“Steve’s stupid knife?” Mom asked. “I hate that thing. What’d you do, pawn it?” She laughed. “Serves him right.”
“But it was kind of stealing,” Kelton said. He must have suffered brain damage in that avalanche, to be turning himself in like this, but after everything that had happened he couldn’t resist coming clean.
Mom only sighed. “We’ll figure out a punishment later, if you insist on beating yourself up over it, but I think the greater crime was me dating that loser in the first place.” She squeezed him in a one-arm side hug. “Now, what do you say we go home, get you something to eat, and watch some good movies? You need to rest.”
Nothing had sounded so good in a long time.
SWANN FELT LIKE SHE WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A SIDDIQ sandwich, and she loved every moment of it. Mom on one side, Dad on the other. Cynthia a few paces away, watching with a smile. A Siddiq sandwich with a side of Cynthia.
Margo approached, tapping away at her phone like always. “I think this whole thing will trend very well,” she said. “If I move quickly, make some calls to some contacts, I bet I could swing an interview on the Today show. And of course all the entertainment sites are just warming up the buzz.”
Dad sighed. “Margo, thanks. You’re the absolute best publicist, but right now we’re just happy our girl is safe. Could we get some space, please?”
Margo pressed the phone over her heart. She smiled as she then tapped away on the phone again. “ ‘Just happy our girl is safe,’ ” she said as she walked away. “Perfect tagline.”
Swann noticed Kelton, a few meters away, watching. He shot a questioning glance at Margo. Swann rolled her eyes, agreeing with him. She was crazy.
“Oh, my little Swannhilda,” Dad said. “We were so worried we’d lost you. I couldn’t . . . I can’t handle . . . I’m nothing without you. Please don’t do anything like that again.”
She knew he was trying to express love, relief that she was OK. But it only brought on a fresh wave of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It was stupid. I know. I thought if I could win the race . . . well, you’d be at the finish line to award the prize, and you and I . . .” She shrugged.
“You did this trying to impress me?” Dad said.
“Impress both of us?” Mom asked.
“I guess,” Swann said. “I’m sorry.”
They both hugged her again. “Swannhilda,” Mom said. “We’re the ones who are sorry. We brought you out here, away from your school and all your friends. And then we’ve been so busy.”
“We’re moving back to California,” Dad said. “This is obviously not working here.”
“No!” Swann said, sure for the first time of this much, at least. “I want to stay. I like it here. Besides, moving back won’t change anything.”
They were all quiet for a moment. Dad finally spoke up. “You’re right. But things . . . things here are going to change. Mom and I are going to be around more. I promise. We’ll go boating and hiking and fishing and everything. Together.”
“I’d like that,” Swann said. “Very much.”
A WEEK LATER, KELTON SAT ON THE SOFA AT HOME, rereading Annette Willard’s article for the school paper, “Three McCall Students Survive Dangerous Ordeal.” An ordeal? Was that what it had been? It had certainly been the talk of the school all week. Teachers had welcomed the three of them back almost as if they actually wanted them, even Kelton, in the school. Even the Populars were asking about what had happened, to the point where he was growing tired of talking about it. He was just glad some old guy from out of town had won the race and taken the big prize, so he didn’t have to listen to Bryden Simmons or someone brag about his awesome new snowmobile.
Mom was at the kitchen table, sighing and fidgeting with her hair as she tried to figure out the bills. She opened another envelope and unfolded the contents, reading for a moment before she gasped and her hand slapped the table. “What?” she mumbled. “No. Is this . . . Can’t be.” She traced lines on the letter with her finger, reading carefully. “Kel!” she said. “This is . . . I mean, I gotta check on this, to see if it’s legit, but this says our landlord sold our house.”
“I’ll start packing.” Kelton sank down on the sofa. “Again.”
“No!” Mom stood up. “This says the house is now owned by some . . . New Frontiers Real Estate. Listen to this, whatever this means. ‘Senior New Frontiers management has reconsidered property asset valuation as it correlates to market invoice index margins and determined the evaluation relative to monthly lease values.’ ” She looked at him. “I never went to college, but does any of that sound like it means anything?” She tapped the letter. “But this part is clear. It’s saying we owe two hundred and fifty dollars less in rent every month.”
Kelton sat up.
Mom spun around, holding up the letter. “Two-fifty a month? Kel, I could catch up on bills! I could take a few less shifts at work. We could go hiking together. This is . . . I gotta call the number here. Make sure this is real, but Kel. This could change everything!”
“We won’t have to move?” Kelton asked hopefully.
“We won’t have to move for years!” Mom threw the letter up in the air, tears in her eyes. She looked at him with a big smile. “We’re going to be OK, Kelton. I think we’re going to be just fine.”
The doorbell rang. Kelton went to answer it, and almost took a step back in surprise. Swann stood on the doorstep, wearing her dark fancy jeans and a puffy purple coat.
“Hey,” Kelton said. Like an idiot.
“Hi,” Swann said brightly. “Are you doing OK?”
“Of course,” Kelton said. He jerked his head back toward Mom. “In fact, there’s this whole thing with the rent, and—you know what? Never mind.”
Swann smiled warmly and nodded.
Kelton’s cheeks flared red. “Oh my gosh. Do you want to come in? It’s cold out here, and—”
“No, that’s OK,” she said. “Thank you. I can’t stay long.” She pointed to the big yellow Jeep parked in the street. “Mom’s waiting in the car.”
Kelton was relieved she didn’t want to come in. He couldn’t imagine what a mansion-living SuperPop like Swann would think of their crappy little place. “Oh,” was all he could think to say.
“I got some flowers for Hunter,” she said.
“Yeah,” Kelton said. Kelton had wanted to get flowers for Mom once, for her birthday. He couldn’t believe how much they cost. He’d ended up getting her a Snickers bar instead.
Swann shrugged. “Actually, Margo, my parents’ publicist, had them sent over to his house. She won’t stop going on about the media reaction to our . . .”
“Our disaster?” Kelton filled in for her.
Swann laughed a little. “Yeah.” She was looking at him, and somehow Kelton didn’t know what he should say. He wasn’t even sure how he should stand. What was wrong with him?
“But I didn’t want to just have Margo or someone send you a thank-you,” Swann said. “I wanted to tell you in person, without everybody else all around. Thanks for everything out there. You kind of saved me.”
Kelton wanted to kick himself. Why were his cheeks so hot? “Well, I didn’t dig myself out from under that avalanche or get that life-saving fire going. So thank you.”
She smiled, and wow, was this girl beautiful. For real.
“Oh!” she said. “I almost forgot. Hang on. Stay right here.”
Before Kelton could say anything, she ran back to the Jeep and opened the back door. There was a little yip, and in the next instant a gray furball shot out the door and splashed down in the snow. It bounced up, snow on his fuzzy face, silly pink tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He barked and ran toward Kelton.
“Scruffy!” Kelton shouted, and walked out on the snowy front steps. Who cared if his socks got all wet and cold? “Scruffy!” The dog jumped into his arms, and Kelton lifted the thirty-pound pooch right up. “Scruffy, what are you doing here?”
Swann had rejoined them. “You were right about the old man in that trailer. What a jerk. But it turns out that, well, after some negotiating, the dog was for sale after all. Only my mom doesn’t want a dog in the house, messing up her decorating and everything. So maybe you want him?”
Kelton bit his lip, hard, trying to get control of himself, and he buried his face in the dog’s stinky fur, trying to wipe his eyes. This was the kindest thing anyone had done for him in his whole life. This SuperPop was really pretty great.
“Thank you,” he finally said, when he was sure he could get the words out clearly.
“No problem,” Swann said. “Thank you for taking him. I guess I should have checked with my parents before buying a dog.”
The two of them—with Scruffy, the three of them—stood close together on the cold and cracked front sidewalk, sun shining brightly on the snow all about them.
“Well,” Swann said. “I better get going. Mom’s—”
“Just one question,” Kelton blurted out. Swann raised an eyebrow. “Swannhilda?”
Swann’s cheeks reddened. “It’s from an old opera.” She stepped very close to him. “And that . . .”—her lips brushed his ear as she whispered—“is a secret.” She remained there for a long, bright moment. “See you around, Kel.” She kissed his cheek.
Then she backed away, smiled at him, and hurried off to the Jeep, leaving Kelton standing there, stunned, unaware of the cold, holding on to Scruffy.
Kelton looked down the block to where that yellow Jeep, with Swann riding inside, waited for a moment at a stop sign. He smiled, not sure what his future held, but for the first time in a very long time, he was eager to find out. “Scruffy,” he said. “Did that just happen? Did you see that? Was that real?” The dog stretched out his neck and licked Kelton’s face. “Ugh. Scruffy!” He laughed, giving the dog a loving squeeze. “Now you ruined it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AT THE END OF THIS SECOND BOOK IN THE MCCALL Mountain series, I am absolutely loving the time I’ve spent with these characters in this fictionalized version of the small Idaho town of McCall. I had a lot of fun writing this book, and for that privilege, special thanks go:
To the wonderful people of McCall, Idaho, whose incredible community is such terrific inspiration for this series. Dear reader, if you haven’t had a chance to visit McCall, you’re really missing something special. McCall is the best.
To Rebecca Van Slyke for her friendship and the inspiration of her courage and strength.
To Rollo Van Slyke for critical guidance about snowmobiles. Any snowmobile-related errors remaining in the book are entirely my fault. Also, thanks for fixing the ice maker.
To the great team at Norton Young Readers for all their help with both Hunter’s Choice and Racing Storm Mountain, with special thanks to my incredible editor, Simon Boughton, for all his patience and insights as we worked out how to get Kelton, Swann, and Hunter into a whole lot of trouble and back again.
To my greatest friend and ally in the writing world, my agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette, for connecting me with Mr. Boughton and Norton Young Readers. Thanks for your patience with me, for putting up with each brilliant-novel-idea-of-the-week, and for all your help.
To my daughter, Verity, for being so patient while I worked on this book, and for her encouragement while she listened to me read this book aloud during the month she was enrolled in Dad Kindergarten during Covid lockdowns.
And to my wonderful wife, Amanda, for unlimited support and encouragement, in writing and in life, these last two decades. Amanda, you are my life.
Copyright © 2022 by Trent Reedy
All rights reserved
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Trent Reedy, Racing Storm Mountain
